Page 28 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

ALL SWEETNESS AND LIGHT

I t proved a long week, the first seven days of their marriage.

Lady Matlock had been very firm in her counsel to him, that it would seem something was amiss if they were out and about within the first week of marrying.

A newly-married couple should wish for privacy.

Thus, they took down the knocker, Georgiana decamped to Matlock House, and the servants were each given some part of the week off, with pay, as was the custom.

It was pleasant to have nothing to do and nowhere to go for the first two days, but then he began to chafe at the tedium.

The third day found him playing chess against himself in order to pass the time, and on the fourth he chanced to ride on Rotten Row at dawn, reasoning that even a happily married man would need to see to it that his horse was not neglected.

He had a bath after returning from his ride; while he was being shaved, Fields happened to remark, “Mrs Darcy’s health is improving, I trust? ”

“Her health?”

“I understand she has been unwell.”

Darcy met his valet’s eyes. Though Fields had not been given a full accounting of the problems facing the master’s marriage, he was not a fool, and surely recognised something very irregular was at hand. “I was not aware of that.”

“Perhaps I am incorrect, sir.”

“Who said she was ill?” Darcy asked.

“Mrs Hobbs mentioned it,” Fields replied, seeming as if he very much wished he had not mentioned it himself. “I am sure it was nothing.”

“I will see the truth of it myself shortly.”

Fields finished his attentions minutes later, and Darcy paused a moment, staring into the glass his valet brought to him. Was his appearance, at least, pleasing to her, or did she think the way he looked was ridiculous as well?

Shaking his head, he resolved to put aside thoughts of himself and go see to her. No matter what lay between them, she ought not to have suffered illness alone.

One of the maids admitted him into his wife’s bedchamber, then rapidly disappeared from the room.

Elizabeth was lying on the chaise lounge in the room, dressed simply with her hair unbound.

It was the first time he had seen her in such an intimate state, but he could not think of it now.

Her pallor was startling, and she seemed somehow much thinner.

As was his tendency, fear and dismay made him short-tempered. “Why was I not informed of your illness?”

She looked up at him with eyes that were shadowed and dark. She seemed not to know what to say and eventually rendered a demissive apology. His anger, always present, swelled within him .

“I am not asking for an apology,” he said. “As your husband, I ought not to learn from my valet that you have been ill. It makes me look absurd.”

“Who do you think should tell you, then?” she said, sounding stronger and a little vexed herself. “You were quite clear that you wished to hear nothing at all from me , and so I did not trouble you with the fact that I had a stomach-ache.”

“If we are to persuade Society that we do not despise one another, then we need to behave as a husband and wife should.”

She swallowed and looked down. “I am doing everything I can to forward this cause, but I do not always know what you wish of me. I will try harder.”

He hardly knew what to say. His anger, quick to rise, had fallen back again and left him with pity and sorrow in its place. After a painful pause, he said, “Pray accept my wishes for the return of your good health.”

With that he turned on his heel and quit the room. He had behaved badly, feeling angry, fearful, and pitying all at once. He paused in the hall; ought he to go back and see if she needed anything of him?

She wants nothing of you. That has been made amply clear. Passing Mrs Hobbs a short distance down the hall, he informed her that he wished to know of any other changes to his wife’s health from her, if not directly from Elizabeth.

Darcy did not see Elizabeth any of the remaining days of their supposed ‘honeymoon’.

He received a note, in her hand, the day following his visit to her, informing him that her maladies had returned and that she had taken to her bed.

He considered going to speak to her but realised he had no idea what to say and so did not.

Between frequent bouts of vomiting and dysentery, the arrival of her courses, and a persistent, painful migraine, Elizabeth thought that the first week of her marriage were certainly one of the worst of her life.

It was a relief that Darcy wished to have nothing to do with her; she would not have known what to do with a husband in the midst of it all.

Darcy’s chief concern was, evidently, appearances, and her appearance in those seven days was nothing to behold.

Even Anne—who seemed to be interested in becoming her friend—was greatly concerned for her and, during one of their little breakfasts together, sent her home with a tincture that her own physician had compounded particularly for her headaches.

Elizabeth found it was quite effective for her as well, although she dearly wished it would do something for her stomach too.

The most she could manage all week was tea and the occasional piece of toast. Jane was her most faithful correspondent throughout; a date had been set for her wedding to Bingley a month hence, and Longbourn was thrumming with the activity of that.

It brought Elizabeth a great deal of joy to read of her sister’s happiness, joy that she had not been able to feel for her own nuptials.

She tried earnestly not to dull Jane’s excitement with word of her own travails, but she had mentioned it to her aunt who in turn mentioned it to Jane and Jane was subsequently worried for her.

Lizzy, my aunt tells me you have been excessively ill since your own wedding last week. She says there is no fever, but can that be? Could it be that you are with child? Mama tells me she vomited quite often both when she was expecting me and you as well.

That made her burst out laughing. With child?

Did Jane think she might have managed some sort of immaculate conception?

Or did her dear Jane, as optimistic as ever, believe that matters between herself and her husband had improved to such an extent in the mere days they had been wed?

If so, she would have to disappoint her sister.

She re-folded the pages and contemplated them for a moment, thinking of how the situation might have been had she and Darcy been able to marry under happier conditions.

Save for the day he had stamped into her bedchamber and rang a peal over her for not telling him she was ill, she had scarcely seen him.

In all fairness, she had only left her bedchamber to go on the occasional walk in the park.

Anne and Mrs Jenkinson were the only people outside of the household she had spoken to and that was only thrice.

It had all been very lonely and sad, particularly as she continued to think of her own failings, and her culpability in the matter. Guilt made for a doleful companion.

She understood now that she had become too much her father’s daughter, too apt to think it a spur to her genius to shoot hidden darts at the proud and haughty.

She had done so to Lady Catherine, to Miss Bingley, and to the man who was now her husband, and she would not do it again.

A woman was not meant to be cleverly biting to those around her, particularly in the elevated society she had just entered.

She hoped that things could improve with her husband.

How that might happen, she could not say.

He had been very clear that he did not want more apologies, and she had no wish to offer that which only angered him further.

She supposed she could do no more but to show him her alteration—if he would allow it.

Mrs Darcy would be all sweetness and light, to everyone she met… no matter how puffed up they were.